"Ugh, what the hell is that smell?!"
"It's like something died, came back, and died again!"
"My nose is gonna rot off!"
"Make it stop!"
The Heartland zombies were in total disarray, groaning and gagging as the stench overwhelmed them. Their minds clouded, their senses scrambled.
The toxic blood of the Black-Skin Zombies was just as lethal as ever.
Before they could recover, the monsters were already on them.
The Black-Skin Zombies tore into the Heartland ranks like a plague of demons. Mindless, fearless, and driven by pure instinct, they didn't hesitate. To them, the Heartland undead were nothing more than fresh meat.
They pounced, biting and ripping with savage hunger.
The battlefield descended into chaos.
Zombies shrieked. Black-Skin monsters roared. Blood—both foul and black—splattered across the ground. Limbs flew. Corpses piled up. The air was thick with rot and rage.
"How's that for a Westmarch specialty?" Meteorfall grinned, baring yellowed teeth.
